Pear Jelly and the Beginnings of a Fantastic Life
by bluedawn01
Summary: Doctor John Chesterton has just landed the job of his dreams with the rather mysterious Torchwood. On his first day, he accidentally gets rather lost and is subsequently saved by the beautiful Rose Tyler, leading him to find the girl of his dreams as well. First AU in the Gingerbread Houses series.
1. Chapter 1

**I have a number of AU fics that I've been working on in pieces here and there and this one is now finished! It's just two chapters and an epilogue total and I'll post the other tomorrow and the epilogue the next day. There are some possibilities for a few more one shots coming off this one, we'll have to see!**

* * *

The first time they meet, he's wandering through the lobby of the seventh floor, glasses askew on his long nose, hair akimbo and map turned sideways in front of his face.

He walks into a glass partition.

The seventh floor is (apparently) the training area for field agents so it's filled with a lot of large and very fit men (and women) who immediately all have a snicker at the long-limbed geek now splayed artlessly on the floor, blushing madly.

They shut right up, however, with a scathing look from the boss' daughter, who not only just showed them all up on the field run test but also got a near perfect score in marksmanship and happens has a rather outstanding arse that none of them can seem to get their paws on (not for lack of trying). She strides right over and offers a hand up to the man, pulling him to his feet and smiling at his rather dazed expression.

"You new?" she asks, kindly, taking his elbow and steering him toward the lift.

"Erm..." he stammers and that's not like him. Not like him at all. He can talk for all of England, isn't that what his grandad always says? So what if he's not exactly a ladies man and this is, by far, the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen? He should be able to manage more than a stammer.

She's looking at him, her eyebrows drawing together slightly in concern at his silence and gaping mouth and that's no good. She probably thinks he's mute or a nutter so he opens his mouth to answer her and then the lift dings and, suddenly, she's in the lift with him.

The small lift. Alone.

His words leave again.

"Are you all right?" she tries again, reaching a hand up to touch his shoulder.

"Fine, fine, brilliant, molto bene," he explodes and she steps back, surprised by his outburst. "First day, yep, that's me. Went to find HR and ended up in some sort of secret laboratory. Ran away before anyone caught me but then I ended up on that floor with all those very large men. And women. Not ah, not that you're large. Because you're not. You're rather a perfect size and -" his eyes widen as that thought comes spilling out and he latches onto another quickly, "Blimey, did you see the biceps on that redhead? Anyway, was just looking at my map and then fell on my arse and ooo, that's not appropriate language in front of a lady, shouldn't have said that -" The woman cuts him off with a slight giggle and he feels his cheeks flush scarlet again.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, staring down at his trainers. Trainers. With his suit. What had he been thinking? But this is his only suit and he wanted to make a good first impression at work and he's not been able to hold a steady job and couldn't afford dress shoes and really his plimsoles are much more comfortable anyway, but this is his dream job and, oh, she's speaking to him.

" - know how overwhelming this place can be at first," she finishes, smiling over at him from across the lift and he feels his heart stutter a bit at that comforting twitch of her lips.

Oh, he's got it bad already.

He's about to answer, trying to find something that's not too stupid to say in response, when the lift dings again and she steps to the side as the doors open. "Third floor, HR," she says, grinning over at him. "No secret laboratories," she adds with a wink and that makes his breath catch a little.

He gives her a grateful smile and steps out of the lift only to turn back and catch the closing doors with his hand. "What's your name?" he asks on a whim. Maybe he'll see her again, this gorgeous blonde woman who's saved him on his first day.

"Rose," she says with another heart-stopping grin.

"Nice to meet you, Rose," he answers and the lift doors close for real.

Rose.

He likes the sound of that.

* * *

He doesn't see her again for almost three days. Not that he's been looking. Or counting. But it's been three days of not looking and not counting and then, suddenly, there she is!

In the canteen.

Which he managed to find all by himself, thank you very much. He is a genius, after all.

Oh, all right. Rory helped.

She comes spilling out of the lift (what is it with him and her and lifts?) dressed in some (rather tight - not that he's noticed) black combat gear with an absurdly attractive redhead (Biceps) and an obnoxiously handsome dark-haired man. What...did they only let gorgeous people into her division? Her head is thrown back in laughter and all three of them are flushed with exertion.

Oh. Not that kind of exertion. He hopes.

Then gulps. Not that he thinks about Rose and that kind of exertion.

Much.

He tries to stop his traitorous thoughts from drifting any further that direction while at the same time letting his genius brain etch the details of that outfit into his memory. (Does she like video games, he wonders? She's a bit like a blonde Lara Croft with her hair braided like that...oh and that's an ill-timed thought because now she's looking over his direction and yes, good thing he's sitting down at his table). Honestly, he's not fifteen and she's not the prettiest girl in school (although she is the prettiest girl at work and there goes his gob again, even in his head).

She gives him a wave and a smile and his new friend Rory gasps, elbowing him when she looks away. "You know her?"

John frowns and notices that Rory isn't the only one who seems to have noticed that Rose waved at him. There are plenty of people who turned his way with that small flip of her hand and now they're all studying him. He coughs slightly and turns to face Rory, avoiding the eyes of nosy canteen eaters. "Well, yeah. Ish. A bit. She helped me find HR on my first day."

Rory gapes at him again for a moment and then shakes his head, turning back to his meal. "First bloody day and you're getting tours from Rose Tyler," he mutters.

The penny drops after a second and John's eyes grow wide as he takes in the full measure of that sentence. "Tyler? As in Pete Tyler? As in Director Pete Tyler? As in our boss Pete Tyler?" he asks, his voice rising slightly.

"The one and only," Rory answers. There is another significant, but not uncomfortable, pause in their conversation and that's one of the things he's learning to like the most about Rory, his comfortableness with silence, when the shy man unexpectedly breaks it with a deep breath and a rushed question, "Listen...d'you think you could get her to introduce me to Amy?"

It's John's turn to gape at Rory. "Who?" he asks.

Rory blushes and nods ever so slightly toward the model-thin redhead sitting beside Rose, flirting heavily with the attractive dark-haired man. "Well, I don't actually know her that well -" John begins and Rory stands up suddenly, pushing his tray away.

"Yeah, nevermind. Not like it would matter anyway," he says forcefully, leaving the table in a whirlwind and John sitting alone.

He's about to get up and follow Rory, to see if he can help in some way, when a shadow falls over him and a slightly familiar perfume drifts toward him. "So...are you just really hungry?" her voice falls over him, just as lovely as before, and he stares up at her a moment, uncomprehending both her sudden presence and the remark until he realizes he's sitting in the canteen, alone, with two full trays of food in front of him. He blushes.

"No, ah, one was my...my friend's," he says, lamely. "He left. Rather quickly."

"Oh, Rory? I saw him," Rose answers and he realizes she was teasing him earlier. "Nice bloke."

"Yeah...he is," John answers and why, on God's green Earth, can he not think of anything interesting to say to this woman?

They look at each other a moment and he's just about to come up with something clever to say (really, he is. And it is absolutely not going to have anything to do with Tomb Raiders or how sexy her legs look in those trousers) when the blue-eyed man sidles up to her, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Ready to go back up, Rosie? I mean, that last round of the combat course with you really got my blood flowing, if you know what I mean," he snickers, winking lasciviously at John who, inexplicably, feels his blood boil a bit. Rose doesn't deserve to be spoken to like that. And of course the git's American.

"In your dreams, Harkness," she says, rolling her eyes and dislodging his arm from her shoulders but still bumping him with her hip.

"Every night, gorgeous, every night," he says, walking backwards toward the lift with his hands outstretched, grinning at her charmingly. And not noticing the redhead behind him with her foot outstretched to trip him as he reaches the lift.

He's liking this Amy more and more.

Rose and Amy both giggle as Jack twists to avoid falling on his face and then Rose gives John one last smile (tongue-touched this time - as if his brain didn't have enough things to fantasize about tonight) and trots into the lift with them.

* * *

Torchwood is completely and utterly brilliant, he's decided. He spends his entire day (and a lot of his nights, if he's honest - he's never been good about sleeping) surrounded by and tinkering with technology he'd never even dreamed of existing.

Plus Torchwood offered him a frankly magnificent salary (even worth the huge amount of privacy paperwork he had to sign to get hired here) and now he's got a nice flat in a safe neighbourhood, a large screen telly, and, despite his propensity not to use it, a hugely comfortable bed.

And, well, barely any other furniture. But he's getting there, he really is.

Plus, he's got mates! Real, proper, fun mates! So, they only hang out at work, but he's never had mates like this before and he's a bit overwhelmed at how it works anyway. He was never exactly popular in school, too smart and awkward to really fit in...then it was off to Uni at sixteen and his first doctorate by twenty-one and his second by twenty-four, so no time for the frivolities of friendship then.

But Rory is kind and clever, even if he tends to roll his eyes at John's more ridiculous ideas, Mickey really knows his way around a computer, River's got a propensity for deciphering alien languages (and for flirting with him - which he has absolutely NO idea how to handle and which, he suspects, is the reason she does it), and Clara's brilliant. The lab downstairs feels more like home every day and these crazy, fantastic people more like family. He's never dreamed that WORK could be like this.

It's been almost two weeks since he's seen Rose Tyler and he's hardly even thought about her. Except, well, last night when he actually did go to bed and then woke up to some rather, erm, sweaty (but pleasant. Very, very pleasant) dreams about her. And, all right, three nights ago when that happened as well. Different fantasy, though, that time it was...

Something he absolutely should not be thinking about the boss' daughter. Who is entirely out of his league. Out of his universe, actually. Although, it had been quite brilliant dream and, unbeknownst to him, the soppy grin on his face is rather giving it away.

"Whatcha thinking about there, Sweetie?" asks River, calling him that nickname that makes him uncomfortable and sidling up next to him, too close to him, just to see him sweat (and not in the pleasant Rose-Tyler-dream-type sweating).

"Nothing," he answers too quickly but River's too clever for that.

"Oh, I very much think it was something!" she singsongs at him, turning to pester Rory from his petri dish.

"That's his 'Rose Tyler' face," Rory grunts, unapologetically turning back to his work and hoping that was enough to get River to leave him alone.

"Oi! It is not!" John defends but he's already flushed bright red and, like sharks to blood in the water, River's caught his blush and Clara's joining in.

"Rose Tyler?" Clara asks, pretending to be aghast. "The Director's daughter? The Sweetheart of Steel from the Field Division? The Queen of Combat? That Rose Tyler?"

He mutters something under his breath that might very well have been a few swear words and turns back to work on his very important sonic tool.

"Hey! I grew up with her!" Mickey chimes in, looking up from his computer across the lab. "We dated, once," he adds smugly and John tries not to punch him for that.

"And by dated, he means that she once was at a pub at the same time he was there watching a match," Clara answers, poking him in the side.

"Hey!" Mickey pouts. "Anyway, the field teams go out Friday for drinks and the pub quiz. We could all go...give those jocks a run for their money," he says, casually, as though this isn't a big deal, as though he didn't just invite John to see Rose Tyler outside of work in one day. "Amy'll be there," he adds, sneaking a gaze over at Rory, who perks up over his petri dish.

"I'm in," River says, automatically. "Any chance to get at that American captain is a good night in my books," she finishes, winking salaciously over at John who is instantly reminded of how the 'captain' had done a very similar thing to him the first time they'd met. Maybe he and River are well-matched, after all. Clara's busy but Rory agrees, and then, well, suddenly he has friends outside of work, too.

And he's going to see Rose Tyler.

Tomorrow night.

* * *

Tomorrow rolls around much quicker than he anticipated and he spends a truly inordinate amount of time pacing around his flat before work examining different outfits he could wear to work (jeans and a jumper? His new blue suit? His brown suit? His swirly tie?) and even longer attempting (in vain) to get his bloody hair to do what he wants it to.

He decides on his brown suit in honour of the first time he met her (will she remember?) and if anyone (River) notices that he's inexplicably nervous today or that, in his nerves, he has caused his hair to reach all new, riotous heights, they (she) thankfully don't comment.

And then it's 19:00 and that's good, because he didn't get anything done today anyway, and they're off to the pub and his palms are sweaty and why did he wear this suit? He looks like a secondary school maths professor. The pub door opens, he holds his breath and they go in...

And she's not there.

He tries to hide his disappointment (Rory's face is mirroring his own, he's sure), but none of the Field squad is here, so maybe they're just not off yet. The quiz doesn't start for another hour anyway, so they all grab pints and claim a table near the front. It's fun, just drinking and laughing with these people he's come to care for inside of Torchwood, and is now adjusting his outside life to fit them as well.

And then the field teams come breezing in. They're loud and a little obnoxious, but they work hard, he knows. He's still not sure exactly what they DO out there in the 'field' but he's seen some of them come back worse for the wear or exhausted and mud-covered in the canteen at late hours when he's stumbling around searching for coffee in the pursuit of science. He's never seen Rose come back bloodied (thank goodness) or even mud-covered, but he's sure she works just as hard, if not harder, than the rest of them.

Rose is dressed in dark jeans that sit low on her hips and a burgundy jumper that is riding up just a bit and she sparkles through the group, clearly the focal point of the energy. Settled at the pub table with her are Amy and Jack and a few other fellows he thinks he recognizes. Jake, part of her team, Wilson, a large bloke he doesn't like the look of very much and an odd, lumpy sort of fellow who seems to go by 'Strax'.

Mickey and River have, of course, noticed that conversation has dwindled a bit as Rory and John are both a bit...distracted by the newcomers to the pub and share a moment to exchange rolled eyes. "Oi! Stroppy fellows one and two! The next round is on you," River interjects, tapping John on the hand and smirking.

He's going to protest that he certainly not being 'stroppy' but it's no use arguing with River and he did just spend the last oh, three minutes checking out Rose while trying not to look like he checking out Rose so John nods and Rory follows him up as they'll have to pass right by Rose and Amy's table to get to the crowded bar. John rather prides himself on making it past Rose's table without tripping and falling over, but, it seems, it wasn't destined to be without incident. Because Wilson's already had a few and the night's just beginning and John is starting to be confirmed in thinking that he's rather a twat.

"Ooo, it's the science squad!" the man snickers, stumbling up to poke John in the chest as he waits patiently for a space to open up at the bar to get more drinks. Strax laughs loudly at that and Jake's mouth quirks up a little too. Rose, he notices however, frowns. He stiffens as the man moves closer to him and Rory does as well, both of them familiar with unwanted attention from idiots like this one from years of primary school bullies. "Up from your labs to socialize with the normal people!" he continues, finishing off his drink with a gulp. "Get one for me, wouldja, science-boy?" he slurs, his hand moving up as if he's going to take John's specs off his nose.

Rose is suddenly there in between them, her eyes flashing and her hands on her hips. "Shove off, Wilson," she says. "Get your own drink. You're going to be pissed before the quiz even begins," she rolls her eyes.  
l  
With the barrier of Rose and the difficulty Wilson is probably having standing with all that lager in him, the tension of the situation dissolves and the large man slides back down in the booth. "It helps me think," Wilson says, proudly.

At that, John can't help himself the little snort of derision that comes out. Oops.

Wilson's suddenly back on his feet and, oh, blimey. He is a very large fellow. They're both towering over Rose in between them, one bulky and the other scrawny but both tall. "Ya got something to say about that, science-boy?" Wilson asks, rolling his shoulders back in what John presumes is supposed to be a threatening gesture.

"It's John. John Chesterton," he responds down his nose at the other man. Rory is silent but tense beside him and, wow, Rose is close to him in this crowded pub. He can't see her face, just the top of her head and the roots of her hair are slightly dark. Not a natural blonde, then? Good to know and while he's distracted cataloging how her hair smells and the way her head would fit very nicely into the crook of his shoulder, his mouth continues without him, "It's scientifically impossible for alcohol to actually _help_ you think. You see, alcohol affects brain chemistry by altering levels of neurotransmitters; specifically, it increases the amount of the inhibitory neurotransmitter GABA, which decreases the brain's electrical activity in addition to causing the sluggish movements and slurred speech being demonstrated very well by you at this very moment," he chatters. Jack and Amy are smirking across the table but the rest of the field agents around them have grown rather quiet.

"You callin' me a slug, Chesterton?" Wilson grinds out.

"It's Doctor Chesterton and no, actually, I wasn't, but I can see how _you_ might have gotten that confused," he retorts. The testosterone flying between them is rather high as they glare at one another and he sees rather than hears Rose's heavy sigh, her shoulders moving up down in front of him.

"Wilson, sit back down before you make more of an idiot out of yourself and Doctor Chesterton," she turns to him and that's when he's ashamed, when he sees that little bit of disappointment in her eyes, "you better just go on up and get your round. I'm sure your friends are waiting on you." Her stern gaze is tempered by the small smile she gives him before she turns back to her booth.

So much for 'cool and casual' and just 'happening' to bump into her at fun night at the pub. That was not quite the interaction he'd been hoping to have with her this evening.

He shuffles up to the bar and slaps down a few quid, taking a pint in each hand as Rory does the same but he's stopped again as he passes by Rose's table, where the men have had their heads together and Rose and Amy are sitting on the side, giggling about something, ignoring everyone else.

"How 'bout a friendly workplace wager, _Doctor_?" Jack calls out.

John's eyes narrow at him slightly but his gaze flickers over to Rose, whose head has come up at this new interaction. He doesn't trust the fly pretty boy but Rose is watching and he doesn't want to seem like a coward, especially not after she stood up for him earlier. "What kind of wager?" he asks, cautiously.

"The pub quiz tonight, our team against yours. Loser buys the winner drinks for a month," Jack smiles up at him, oozing charm. "And I gotta say, you're going down," he adds, wolfishly, his eyes flickering below John's belt buckle and for the love of...that man would flirt with a lampost.

But seriously? Captain Innuendo and the ape squad (Rose excluded, of course) want to challenge his team? His team with four masters degrees and four doctorates (Ok, so Mickey doesn't have a doctorate, but he has two so it still counts) among them? "You're on," he snaps, oblivious to Rory's intake of breath beside him.

"Just one problem," Jake adds, leaning forward as the quizmaster steps toward the mic to begin the quiz. "You've got to have at least five for a team and...oops, I don't see that many people at your table."

"One, two, three, four," Wilson counts out, obnoxiously. "Even I can do that."

"Guess you'll just have to forfei -" Jack begins, ready to pull the rug out for their little stunt when he's interrupted suddenly.

"Five," Rose says, standing up and taking her pint with her.

"Rose -" Jack starts but she's already breezed off across the pub, John, Rory and a number of others staring after her. Jake turns to Amy with what looks like a protest but Amy mutters something about them all being wankers and deserving it anyhow and maybe she'll go play for the Science Squad next time as well.

Rory's ears pink.

John jogs slightly to catch up with Rose, careful not to jostle Mickey's pint as he goes. "You didn't have to do that," he says, leaning down toward her ear because it's noisy in this pub and he certainly imagined that she just shivered slightly because there is no way that actually happened.

"I know," she replies, moving over slightly to grin up at him and he just grins daftly back for a moment.

"Then why did you?" Rory asks, interrupting them and sliding into the booth, handing River her pint. Mickey and the other woman had been watching the whole thing unfold from across the pub, and John may have thought that shiver was imaginary but Mickey certainly didn't. There is some peripheral noise around the pub as papers are passed out and team names selected.

All four people at the booth are now turned to stare at her, interested in her answer, and Rose shifts a little, uncomfortable. "I just wanted to," she shrugs slightly, then brightens. "Besides, there's always WAY too much testosterone going on over there," she tries joking and then blushing slightly as she realizes that there are three affronted men sitting around her now. "I mean, I'm sure you're all manly men as well. Look at this hand," she tries, picking up a surprised John's hand, showing it around the table and the letting it go suddenly, embarrassed, because John is gaping at her. "I can see you're all, um, strapping young men. Except for you, of course," she adds to River and then groans and puts her head in her hands a moment, coming back up bright red.

"Can I try that again?" she asks over the awkward silence that has fallen and that breaks the moment and all five of them begin to laugh.

"Strapping!" John hoots.

"You may have met your match, boss," Mickey laughs and if John turns a brighter shade of red than he was a moment ago with Rose touching his hand, well, the pub lights are low and surely she can't tell.

"I'm Rose," she says, catching her breath after a fit of laughter and she looked glorious like that, he thinks, head thrown back, cheeks flushed. He'd like to make laugh like that all the time. "No, no, wait, don't tell me, let me try," she says quickly, over Rory who begins to introduce himself. "Um...Rory Williams, you helped my mum deliver Tony - on the A1, in the back of a Torchwood van, if I remember correctly," which makes Rory duck his head and blush an almighty shade of red. "Micks - good to see you again, you'll have to fill me in on your gran tonight, and..." she considers River a moment, who returns her gaze with a flirtatious smile. "River Song!" she says, triumphantly. "The only woman I've ever known to stand up Jack Harkness," she laughs and River laughs, delightedly.

"He deserved it," she chuckles.

"Oh, I have no doubt," Rose answers and then John clears his throat. "Yes?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

"What about me?" he says and no, he is absolutely not pouting at her. All right, maybe he is, but he's also in awe of her. She knew all of them...in fact, he'd wager she could name just about every Torchwood person in this pub and that she would have pleasant things to say about them all.

"You, _Doctor_ John Chesterton," she grins slyly at him, "would be the man who single-handedly managed to set off a level four security breach within the first ten minutes of working at Torchwood." River, Mickey and Rory all turn to stare him with wide eyes.

"It was an accident!" he says, defensively, throwing up his hands and they all break into another loud roar of laughter.

* * *

The rest of the evening passes by far too quickly by John's standards, and he simply can't remember the last time he had so much fun. They do, in fact, win the pub quiz (the other teams never stood a chance, really, between Mickey's knowledge of technology, Rory's of medicine, River's of history, Rose's of pop culture and John's everything in between) and then, quite suddenly, John is standing alone on a street corner at two in the morning beside Rose Tyler.

His head is still buzzing from the pints he drank and the heady feeling of her thigh pressed up close against his in the booth, their fingers brushing over the pencil to jot down answers, breath mingling in heads-together decisions. "You going uptown?" he asks, making conversation to stave off both an unwanted awkward silence and the chill in the air.

"Yeah," she answers, running her hands up and down her arms and he has the sudden fleeting thought that he'd rather like to do that for her, among other things, which pulls him up shortly. It's one thing to imagine those things about Rose Tyler when Rose Tyler isn't there, it's another thing entirely to do it while she's standing half a meter from him and the smell of her perfume is still lingering on his suit jacket from where their shoulders had been pressed against one another.

A cab pulls up in front of them. "Want to share?" he asks, not sure from where this sudden courage is coming.

"Sure," she smiles and he motions for her to go first and then clamors in after her, his lanky limbs folding awkwardly into the small space. There is a beat of silence where Rose fiddles with the strap of her messenger bag and he taps out a rhythm on the sole of his trainer when they both try to speak again.

"That was -"

"I had a good -"

Both of them flush and turn forward in the cab a moment, only to meet each other's gaze surreptitiously on a glance back, causing a chuckle to break the silence. "You first," John says, his eyes adjusting to the darkness, just able to make out her silhouette against the lights of London flashing by outside.

"That was really fun," she says, smiling at him briefly and then looking down to twist her hands together in her lap, oddly nervous behaviour from a woman who normally seems so poised and in control.

"It was, wasn't it?" he grins, his widest, happiest grin because this really is the happiest he's been in a long time. Encouraged by her bright smile back at him, he continues, "We should do it again, sometime! Go out, I mean. To the pub. And by 'we' I mean everyone, of course. All...all of us. Rory, Mickey, River, Clara! Oh, you didn't meet Clara! She's lovely. Not that I've been noticing. She's a lovely person, is what I meant. But she is pretty. Not as pretty as you but ah, yes, anyway, that's what I meant. Going out. With everyone. Not just the two of us. Unless you'd like to do that. To go out, I mean. Just...ah, just the two of us."

She's silent a moment, staring at him with her mouth slightly open and he backpedals fast. "Of course, you don't, I mean, that's ok. I don't really do that anyway. Been a long time since I've done that. Or done anything, really, been a while. Not that I'm inexperienced," he squeaks, "I just..."

Rose cuts him off suddenly with a finger pressed against his lips and, blimey, her finger is warm and soft and he's breathing really hard now, harsh sounding in the otherwise silent cab.

"I'd like that," she says, softly.

"Which, er...which part?" he asks, once her finger comes off his lips although he'd give back those words if it would keep her touching him a bit longer.

"Both?" she says, giving him a shy smile. The cab stops then and she moves to get out and he feels like he can finally breathe again when her head pops back in the door a moment, startling him (but not enough to make a very un-manly noise of surprise. Nope, that wasn't him).

"I like chips," she says, grinning at him one last time, tongue-touched and that's it.

He's a goner.

Rose Tyler fancies chips and, he thinks, might just fancy him.


	2. Chapter 2

It's all he can do Saturday to not either 1) explode with excitement b) implode with nerves or 3) go into Torchwood immediately and hope that she happens to be there. As it is, he only makes it to Sunday afternoon.

He goes into Torchwood with a light head and his heart in his throat. She might not even be in today but he couldn't sit at home any longer and think about it. He disappears into the lab, intent on making some progress on his sonic screwdriver (which is NOT a daft idea, no matter what Mickey says).

Surprisingly enough, he's not the only one in the lab this afternoon. "Hello, sweetie."

Oh, right. He vaguely remembers River saying something about working today, the comment bizarrely pointed at him last night, he thought.

"Oh, ah, hello, River," he startles.

"What are you doing stuck in here on a lovely London Sunday?" she asks, moving closer to him. He tries to ignore her. She's always doing that, getting into his personal space. He thinks he ought to be used to it by now, but he's not. He might never be.

"Just working on a few projects that need special attention," he mutters, intent on his sonic and not on how she's still moving closer, leaning on his arm now, bits of her he'd rather not think about pressing into him.

"Mmm, special attention. I like the sound of that," she murmurs and her voice is far too close to him now, he thinks. He turns his head to question her and then suddenly her lips are on his and everything is lips and teeth and tongue and what the hell is going on? His arms are flailing about, his tie is in her grip and he's fairly certain his glasses are going to fall off his face. It's all he can do not to drop the sonic and it lasts a few more very uncomfortable moments before River seems to realize that he's not responding. At all.

She breaks the kiss and backs away a few steps, looking sheepish and, if he's reading her correctly, a bit sad.

He's rather too surprised and angry to bother looking very closely, however. "What the hell was that?" he sputters.

"It's Rose, isn't it?" she asks, quietly, leaning back against the table and watching him closely.

He takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, willing his anger away. It won't do any good to yell at her, anyway. "I don't know yet, River. But I think so. I hope so. I really, really do. And even if it wasn't, this..." he gestures between the two of them, "is never going to happen."

They stare at each other uncomfortably for a few moments and then River takes a deep breath. "I'm going home for the day," she announces. "And, for the record, I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," he answers, sinking back down onto his stool and looking at his sonic instead of her.

"And, John?" she says and he reluctantly drags his gaze back up to meet hers.

"Yes?"

"Good luck," she says with a small smile before disappearing out the door.

He only puts up the pretense of working for another hour before wandering to the canteen. If Rose is in, that's the only place he might happen to run into her because he's not venturing back up onto the seventh floor, especially not with a month's worth of free drinks won from some burly and not-so-pleased-about-losing field agents.

When he arrives, she's not there and he tries to hide his disappointment but he thinks even the dinner lady can see it as he half-heartedly orders a sketchy-looking shepherd's pie and a soda. He's eating slowly, trying to come up with a viable reason he could happen (safely) onto the seventh floor when the chair across from him squeaks out and a wonderful, teasing voice says, "I wouldn't eat that, if I were you."

He'd like to say that he hides his glee at her appearance, but he's actually sure that it's shining from his face, radiating out from the thousand-watt grin he's given her in response. "I'll take my chances," he replies, tilting his chin down to look at her over the bridge of his nose, all mock-seriousness. "I'm that sort of a man."

She giggles (actually giggles, though she would probably deny it) at that and he drops the pretense to smile back. "So, what're you in for, Doctor Chesterton?" Rose asks, reaching over to steal a wayward bit a carrot from his plate and popping it into her mouth and if he's surprised at her familiarity, he doesn't blink at her.

Too much.

He can't blame her though, not really. That's just how it feels between them...as though they've known each other far longer than a month and not actually even gone on a real date, as though their hands simply belong entwined, as though they just...fit.

"Just doing some work in my lab," he responds, watching her with fascination as she seems to realize that stealing food off his plate was, perhaps, a bit forward and blushes slightly. Oh, he likes that. He'll have to see if he can get her to blush more around him. It's certainly better than him doing all the blushing.

"Oh? What're you working on?" she asks, tilting her head to the side and watching him closely.

He lights up again, keen to show off for the pretty girl, and draws the prototype for his project from one of his copious labcoat pockets. "It's a sonic device that uses the back and forth vibration of particles in the air to exert physical force on objects remotely. I think it could eventually make it so it could be used for all sorts of purposes, bypassing locks, dismantling objects and, using the psylocomotor technology we recently obtained from the Vergosans, I might even be able to work in a psychic interface that locks onto a person's genetic code, making the device respond only to the owner," he babbles excitedly.

Rose, looking suitably impressed and a little dazed, reaches over and, hesitantly, touches the object in question. That he lets her surprises even himself. He hasn't let anyone in the lab even come close to touching this prototype. It's his pet project and he's having difficulty ever imagining letting it go to someone else, but here he is, happily handing it over to Rose Tyler in exchange for a smile. "That's amazing," she breathes, reverently running her fingers over the silver casing lightly, careful not to touch anything important and he beams. She gets it! He knew she would.

"So what does it do now?" she asks and it's his turn again to blush and bluster, gently taking it back from her.

"Weeellll, it's still in the beginning phases, haven't quite worked out how to capture and focalize the energy waves..."

"Doctor -" Rose interrupts, her tongue going into her teeth.

"It lights up," he mumbles, using his thumb activate the switch and the tip glows blue. He'd just installed that diode this afternoon, frustrated that it wasn't_doing_ anything. Yet. It will.

She doesn't laugh, just gives him a merry smile, which he returns sheepishly and then the sonic is tucked back away in his pocket and they're on to talk about their friends and Friday night.

Apparently, Amy went home with some wanker and Rose is bemoaning her friend's terrible choices in men and he feels a rush of joy that they're sitting here, talking together as though they're old friends. It's so effortless and being with someone has never been so natural for him before. "I just don't see why she can't ever find a _nice_ bloke to go out with," Rose sighs, rolling her eyes a bit and then absently rolling her shoulders as well.

"Rory fancies Amy, actually," John blurts out, because really, he was distracted by the way that roll subtly brought her chest forward and out and oh, perhaps Rory won't have liked that he said that.

"Oh. Huh," Rose says, leaning back in her chair and looking surprised and contemplative.

"Something wrong?" John asks, cautiously, because Rory is his friend and he only wants the best for him and perhaps he should have kept his big gob shut and kept that a secret. Obviously, Rose's (rather perfect) breasts have some sort of magical power over him, causing him to spill secrets like that.

He certainly wouldn't mind conducting further research.

It's a long moment (not that he really notices, he's too busy thinking about Rose's chest) before Rose speaks again, to clarify her 'oh'. "I just...I've seen Rory around for years and he's never with anyone so I just sort of figured he didn't fancy..." Rose trails off, very fascinated in her mediocre canteen pudding.

"Girls?" John asks, humorously. Oh, is he going to have fun teasing Rory about _that_.

"No!" Rose exclaims, blushing. "It's not...it's just...well, anyone. I just can't picture Rory fancying anyone."

"Everyone fancies someone, Rose," John answers, looking away from her to push food around his tray.

"Including you?" she asks and his attention is then immediately focused back on her, his gaze like a laser beam looking into her soul and there, her fingers are inching towards his, just brushing over the back of his hand.

"Including me," he says, quietly and there it is again, that magical little flutter he gets in his stomach when she looks at him or touches his hand or even just when he thinks about her. And then it's filled with a rush of dread because he's got to get this little thing out in the open because he doesn't want her to hear it from anyone else, because, though they haven't even gone on one date, he feels like he was somehow being unfaithful, even if it was none of his doing

"River kissed me," he blurts out and no, no. That's not how he meant to go about that. Especially not the way Rose instantly shuts in on herself, her hand drawing back from his as though he'd burned her, embarrassment fighting its way across her face.

"Well, um, well yeah, of course you would fancy her," Rose begins, looking down and beginning to chip away at the paint on her nails. "She's really smart, loads smarter than me...understands your work, I bet and -"

"No-no-no-no!" he exclaims, tripping over the words to get them out fast enough, waving his hands in front of his face in agitation. "I don't fancy River. _She_kissed me. I didn't, I wasn't, I, erm...I didn't want her to do that," he replies, watching for her facial expressions to give him some sort of idea as to what she's thinking now.

"Ok," Rose responds, frowning lightly. "Did you want me to say something to HR?" she asks, looking confused, probably about why he brought it up, then.

"No!" he exclaims. "No, it's all right, it's worked out," he responds, quickly. He doesn't want River to get into any trouble, and he's pretty sure they're on the same page now. "I just...thought you should know."

"Ok," Rose says again, still looking a little confused.

He takes a deep breath and reaches tentatively back across the table for her hand. "I fancy someone else, actually," he admits, the other hand flying to the back of his neck.

"Yeah?" she asks, shyly, and her eyes are moving back up to meet his and oh, that's a look he likes much better, hope-filled and a bit coy.

"Yeah," he responds, quickly.

There is a long pause where the two of them simply stare at one another, like two characters in a daft romance film but he never wants this moment to end. He finally breaks the silence, drawing in a deep breath and licking his lips (did her eyes just follow that movement or was that his imagination?).

"Wouldyouliketogetdinnerwithme,Rose? Tonight?" he says, very, very quickly and he hopes she caught those spliced together words because he really doesn't have enough nerve to say it again.

Rose doesn't respond.

"Or tomorrow, or the next day, even," he adds, frantically because she's still silent.

To his surprise (and embarrassment) her face falls instead of lighting up. Disappointed? Why is she disappointed? "I...I can't," she says, quietly although her hand is still in his. He lets go quickly, standing up and running his empty-feeling hand through his hair nervously, sending the brown locks into complete disarray.

"Right. Right, of course not. Should have figured that. You're you and I'm, well. I'm just me. I just thought we were...never mind. I guess I got it wrong. I'm always doing that, getting it wrong. It was a stupid idea, my mistake. Don't worry, won't happen again," he rambles, backing away from her.

"John -" she begins, standing up to go after him but he's already turned and bolted away to the stairwell, his mortification chasing him as fast as his long legs will go.

He goes straight home after that and, if an obnoxiously large portion of alcohol somehow mysteriously appears in his system, well that's no one else's business, is it?

When he finally drags himself into work on Monday morning (afternoon) he (apparently) looks like hell.

"Whoa! What happened to you, mate?" Mickey asks and John raises a hand in offense at the rather loud sound and he does not bother removing his sunglasses.

"We were about ready to send out the cavalry," Clara interjects. "You're never late for work."

He blearily peers around the room and notices, to his relief, that River isn't in today. Clara, however, seems to have taken over the role of head inquisitor and moves in to sit next to him. "Spill," she demands.

"I don't know to what you are refering," he replies haughtily, but the effect is somewhat ruined by him putting his forehead down on the cool lab table.

"C'mon, boss," Mickey joins in, plopping down next to him. "Friday night at the pub when I left, you looked like you'd just won the blonde-haired lotto and today you come in looking like death on toast."

"Thanks," he grunts, his voice muffled by the table.

"You're welcome!" Mickey replies cheerfully, whacking him on the back.

His head comes up off the table suddenly and he whips to face the two of them, tearing the sunglasses off his face. "Fine. You want to know? I asked Rose out to dinner. And she said no. So there. Happy?" he snarls.

"She said no?" Clara asks, looking extremely surprised and a little pitying but Mickey just looks incredulous.

"No way. Pull the other one," he breathes and, quite suddenly, John feels like he'd like to punch the other man even though none of this is his fault. "The way she was looking at you Friday night? There's no way that's possible," Mickey states, confidently and he's torn between hanging onto that little bit of hope in Mickey's words (how was she looking at him?) and bitterness at remembering her rejection.

"What, exactly, did she say?" Clara asks, ever the problem solver and pragmatist.

John heaves a sigh and resists the urge to put his head back down on the table. "I saw her in the canteen Sunday afternoon. I asked her if she wanted to go to dinner that night. Or Monday. Or even Tuesday. She said 'I can't'. Simple as that," he trails off sadly, staring at his hands. Or as simple as having his heart crushed in his chest cavity can be.

Oh, he's dramatic today, isn't he?

"And then?" Mickey prods.

"And then I ran off so my mortification didn't eat me alive in front of her," he snaps, running an agitated hand through his hair and another over the stubble on his chin.

" 'I can't'?" Clara quotes back to him and he winces ever-so-slightly.

"Yes, bloody 'I can't'," he snaps again.

"What does that even mean?" Mickey wonders out loud.

He takes a deep breath instead of snapping again...he's been wondering that himself for the past twenty-some hours (at least the ones he was conscious for). She can't because she doesn't fancy him? She can't because they work together? She can't because she's so far out of his league he doesn't even come close to her? She can't because she's dating that obnoxious American? She can't because she has an aversion to pin-striped suits? She can't because she's dying? He pulls himself up short there, because he doesn't want to think of that, not at all, ever, whether she's going to dinner with him or not.

It's Rory who breaks the silence next; Rory who's been sitting quietly over at his table, seemingly ignoring them all. "It probably means that she couldn't go out with you last night or tonight or even tomorrow because her team left for an off-planet mission Sunday evening," he replies, calmly, not even taking his eyes off his microscope.

John just gapes at him.

"They get back on Thursday. You should ask her again then," Rory adds and there's a little hidden grin into his petri dish, John's sure of it. He rushes over and bear-hugs the surprised (and bewildered) Rory and then Clara, too, for good measure. Mickey holds up his hands and ducks beneath the table before John can grab him, to the laughter of everyone and then things are moving forward as usual.

And, oh. This is what hope feels like, beautiful, shining, golden hope blossoming back up inside his chest. Oh, hope is good. He quite likes hope. Thursday. He can wait until Thursday.

He can't keep his mind off her Monday night as he's lying in bed, not that it's so different from other nights, but now that he's got hope, real hope, his thoughts just keep coming back to her.

The way her hair smells.

The way her knee knocked against his at the pub table when she was joking with him.

The way her finger felt on his lips in the cab. The way her hand felt linked with his over the canteen table.

The way her hands would feel...other places.

And, oh, there it is.

But there's so many things he wants to do with her! And a lot of them are things he may have only seen in films and maybe he'd be rubbish at them but something about her makes him want to try. Who knows? Shagging against a wall? And a desk? And over the arm of a couch? She makes him feel out of control... in a way he really, really likes. And a way he'd like to explore some more.

Preferably with her and not just his currently busy right hand and creative imagination.

It's not that he's _completely_ inexperienced. There was that French exchange student he met in Uni, glamourous and older and amused with the way he fell over his arse at her, but he was only 19 and when they'd tried...well, he'd offered to pay her dry cleaning bill and she'd never spoken to him again.

And then there was Joan...sweet but boring Joan. They'd met when he was finishing his second doctorate and she was in nursing school and they'd just sort of...fallen together. It had been comfortable but a bit...boring. Sex had never seemed necessary, really, something they did because it was expected and it was never very exciting...more of a 'lie back and think of England' experience for both of them.

So, maybe it's him.

But Rose...Rose doesn't make him feel like that at all. He wants her...and in so many ways! He wants hot, animalistic, tearing-each-other's-clothes-off fucking, and lazy, sleepy morning sex and intense, soul-stirring love-making. But it's not just this overwhelming physical appeal that's drawing him to her.

He also wants to know her, to know everything about her and tell her everything about him. He wants to hold her hand and her shopping bags and her hair when she's had too many pints. He wants her to meet his grandparents and see his childhood home and kiss her on New Year's Eve. He wants to proudly make her his plus one for the rest of his life, to show everyone that she belongs to him and he belongs to her and that they belong together.

Because they do.

He's sure of it.

Thursday. He can wait til Thursday.

And until then, well, he can keep imagining what that blush looks like further down her body.

He's at work late on Wednesday, making progress on his sonic because he knows if he goes home, he'll just think about Rose and Wednesday has almost turned into Thursday now, so it's not much longer until the field team is back. Rory's still here, too and he's certain that it's probably for the same reasons.

Torchwood is a typically quiet place at night. Most employees like to keep a usual day schedule, but there are always people around, especially in the labs, med wings and field division.

He's elbow-deep in a pile of old electronics when a loud, blaring, claxon alarm he's never heard before begins stridently ringing through the lab. He skids into Rory's area, looking confused when a voice comes over the loudspeaker. _'MAUVE ALERT! I repeat MAUVE ALERT! Any and all personnel with medical experience, please report to the medical wing immediately. MAUVE ALERT!"_

Rory shoots from his seat, moving faster than John has ever seen him, dashing from their lab toward the lift and frantically punching the button with the flat of his hand several times.

"What is that?" John asks, instantly on alert by Rory's behaviour. Rory doesn't get worked up over things. Rory doesn't get upset. Rory is solid and dependable and...

"A mauve alert means a field team has come back seriously injured, usually with deaths," Rory snaps. "Where is the bloody lift?"

His blood runs cold and Rory catches his expression. "Yeah," he says quietly, stepping into the lift as soon as it comes and dragging John with him. "That field team."

The lift ride up is tense and neither man bothers speaking, both caught up in imagining what they might find upon arriving. When the doors finally open on the tenth floor, they're both out in a blink, running toward the chaos ahead.

"Director, sir!" Rory yells, skidding into the chaotic medical wing where clean, white, sterile walls loom dauntingly and all around machines beep and people yell and oh God, oh God, oh God, where is Rose? "Rory Williams. MD. Where do you need me?"

"Rory!" Pete Tyler cries in relief, his sleeves rolled up, his face lined and his shirt already stained a horrible red. "Help Doctor Constantine with Jack in surgery B." Rory nods and sprints off down a corridor, leaving John alone with the Director.

"And you are?" Pete barks, already distractedly watching as another stretcher is carried in. Strax, John thinks.

"John Chesterton, sir. I have a basic knowledge of human anatomy, a steady hand and I took an introductory triage course in university."

"Ah, right. The famous John Chesterton. Got it. Over to Dr. Jones in Surgery A with -" Pete is cut off then by the final stretcher to be carried in, bearing a screaming, thrashing Rose Tyler. The two men wear matching expressions of horror, running to her. There is a gaping hole in her abdomen where a particularly nasty, spikey...something protrudes and oh God, again, Rose is going to die and he's going to have to watch.

Then there is a small, dark-haired doctor with sideburns that probably rival his own barking at them. "Tyler! Hold down her legs and you - whoever you are, hold down her arms. I have to get that _thing_ out and she's moving too much. I don't want to do anymore damage then's already been done."

"Sullivan, can't you give her something? Knock her out?" Pete pleads over Rose's screaming, even as he lunges for her legs, pinning them down to the bed.

"No, sir. As far as I can tell, that Anwairua spike is poisonous and we don't know how our drugs will react with it. She might never wake up. Now, hold her down!" the little doctor orders and John leans down, pinning Rose's arms on either side of her head, using his torso and body weight to hold her down. As he does this, his face comes near hers, his mouth whispering frantic words in her ear, trying to keep them low and calming, trying to will her to hear him.

Dr. Sullivan removes the spike and a device clever Rory and Mickey designed just last year (he's heard all about it in the lab) analyzes the poison and starts to create an antidote as a team of doctors converge on Rose, mending her wounds. John falls back, without a job now, watching in a haze of confusion and disbelief, his hands wet and slippery from holding onto Rose.

Moving through the next few hours in a haze, he's donated blood along with every other person currently in Torchwood and then been ushered out, told to wash up and, as he refuses to leave, to change into a pair of spare scrubs (his powder blue oxford and his jeans - tight, because Clara once told him that his arse looked good in this pair and he thought he was going to see Rose, today, are stained with Rose's blood and he never wants to see them again) and then he's sitting in the lobby, drinking a cup of tepid tea next to an exhausted Rory.

"What's the report?" he asks, almost afraid of the answer. Rose had been pale, so very, very pale last he had seen her and he's not seen Amy at all.

"Jake is fine, just minor burns...he was farthest from the attack, running point from the ship. It doesn't look like Strax is going to pull through and Jack is still in critical condition. From what I understand, Amy, Wilson and Rose were ambushed and Jack and Strax went in after them. Amy's out of surgery but her body is rejecting the antidote...we're trying several variants to see if one of them will take but without an effective antidote, she won't live much longer."

John can hear the torment in his voice and he knows that Rory feels this part is his fault...he thinks that if he had designed his machine better, Amy would already be recovering, but in reality, it's the only reason that any the team members have any hope at all. He's about to try and comfort the other man when Rory continues, looking up at John with dark but honest eyes, "Rose lost a lot of blood, John. She's unconscious now, but there's hope that she'll recover. Her body accepted the antidote and the transfusions and is fighting off the poison, but she's got a ways to go and there's no guarantee that she'll wake up."

John takes a deep breath then, willing himself to stay calm, to remember that some of that was good news and Rose is strong and tenacious and she has to recover. She has to. They've got plans carry out, dinners to have, pub quizzes to win, memories to make.

He risks a look over at the lost, anguished Rory, imagining the other man's thoughts are much the same. "And Wilson?" he asks, realizing that Rory left out one team member.

Rory looks away from John at his own scrubs-covered knees, shaking his head slightly. "Wilson's dead."

"Oh," he replies. After a few more moments of silence, John stands, stretching slightly, Rory following him. They won't allow anyone in Rose or Amy's rooms yet, but neither of them want to leave and the lobby seems so far away...so the two men are stuck out in the hall, both of them sitting with long legs extended across the hall on the cold tile, watching and waiting, silent sentinels against the odious white walls that separate them from the women they already see holding their futures. They would both sit here for a thousand years, if that's what it took, he knows.

Eventually, even his worry and fear can't keep cloying exhaustion from claiming him and his dreams are dark and sad, full of burning suns and unfinished goodbyes. He is awoken several hours later with a gentle shake to his shoulder. John opens his eyes, letting them adjust to the harsh hall light and peers blearily up at the woman shaking him. "Hello, plum," a tired, middle-aged blonde woman in an expensive-looking tracksuit (_he didn't even know they made expensive-looking tracksuits_) says, smiling kindly at him. "You must be John."

He nods, still rather sleep-muddled and a bit confused on why he 'must be' John, but accepts her proffered hand, standing and stretching out his stiff limbs, listening to her as she rambles and following her. Rory's gone off, maybe Amy's room has been opened.

"They're letting people in now and you'll be more comfortable in the room, I think. The chairs aren't too posh, but it's better than cold tile," she continues, shepherding him into the room with her and pushing him into one of the chairs at Rose's bedside before he can say anything. They're both staring at the pale girl's unmoving form with twin expressions of concern, he would guess, if he could take his eyes off Rose to look, but the woman continues, "Just got in from France...took Tony to Disneyland, you see. We got the call from Pete on the zeppelin, and I hurried here as fast as I could. Took Tony to his Aunt Sylvia's and now, oh, why is she still asleep and why is she so pale?" the woman trails off, a tear coming from her eye, squeezing Rose's hand, her grief and worry finally overtaking her defensive babble.

He knows a thing or two about that...grief and defensive babbles both.

John puts a few of the pieces of accumulated information together (Tony, Pete, the way this woman reminds him of Rose) and realizes this must be the fierce and famous Jackie Tyler. "Her body is working with an antidote to heal the damage done to it," he replies, much more calmly than he feels, trying to comfort the older woman. "And it's easier for it to focus on one thing at a time, so her being unconscious is actually helping the healing process."

She sniffs and they both continue to watch Rose in silence, each of them holding one of her hands. The only sounds in the room are their breaths, Jackie's quiet tears and the beeping of Rose's machines. Finally, John breaks the near silence, asking the question he's been contemplating for the past few moments. "Why did you say I 'must be' John?" he asks. Come to think of it, Pete had a similar reaction when he'd introduced himself.

While it doesn't get him an answer right away, his question does provide a distraction for the woman across from him. Jackie fixes him with a tough, no-nonsense gaze for a moment and he shifts, nervous under her scrutiny. "Well, I am the wife of one of the most powerful men in England," she says, eyeing him up and down, slowly. He can only imagine what she sees: a tired, pale scientist in borrowed navy scrubs, dirty trainers and with more than twenty-four hours of scruff on his chin. "A man who happens to run the most advanced, progressive and secretive organizations in several worlds. We keep an eye on all you genius-types, up-and-coming Torchwood-potentials, waiting for the right time to bring you into the organization. Your name's been on our list for quite some time. Sarah Jane Smith, bless her heart, recommended you ages ago"

He reels slightly at that information, unsure how he feels about all of that (_Professor Smith? From Luna University? That was years ago! Oh, but he's seen Jackie Tyler before, the Tylers came to that fundraising event in his fifth year, the one where he presented the Gallifrey project..._), when Jackie's expression changes, turning into a gentle, motherly smile, tapping the fingers of her well-manicured hand against Rose's bed frame. "Plus your name _may_ have come up a few, oo, hundred times over the last month while I've been speaking with my daughter," she says, her smile widening as John's head whips up to stare at her, eyes wide and hopeful. "It's been Dr. Chesterton this and Dr. Chesterton that for nearly a month now. I do seem to recall her mentioning something about some 'really great hair'," she quips, chuckling softly as his free hand goes up to his neck and then into said-hair, both chuffed and embarrassed. Her expression changes ever so slightly then, eyes narrowing a bit as she continues, "She did also happen to mention to me just before her team left that a certain Doctor finally got up the nerve to ask her out but bolted before she had a chance to explain her schedule. Does that sound familiar to you?"

John swallows and looks back down at the small hand clasped in his, the hand he wishes with all his might would just squeeze back. "She told me she couldn't and I thought she meant she didn't want to go out with me," he admits. "She's pretty far out of my league," he adds, keeping his eyes from Jackie's. The woman must know, after all, especially if Torchwood's been watching him as long as she implied. Fit, gorgeous, billionaire daughters of CEO's didn't go for skinny science nerds with sad pasts.

Jackie snorts loudly and he looks up, surprised at the sound. "You're a right pair," she says, rolling her eyes. His confusion must be showing on his face, because she continues, "She thought the same thing about you."

"Me?" he squeaks. The bright, beautiful, powerful Rose Tyler thought _he_ was off limits?

"Didn't think she was smart enough for the man with two doctorates," Jackie replies, warily watching him for a reaction. "And a masters degree."

"But Rose is brilliant!" he sputters, sincerely, and that seems to have been the right answer because Jackie relaxes across from him. But he means it, too! Rose kept up with the banter at their pub table full of geniuses, even managing to point out a few times silly things they'd missed. In just a few moments, she was keeping Mickey in line, drawing Rory out, laughing with River and making everyone feel welcome. Rose is clever and intuitive and observant and oh, just thinking about that night again makes his heart ache and his hand tighten in hers. She has to wake up. They're supposed to have more nights like that, nights of laughter and fun and heated looks across pub tables.

He's lost in these thoughts when Jackie speaks again, breaking the silence once more. "There's been other men, you know," she says, almost casually. John's eyes come up to meet hers once more, unsure of the trajectory of this new conversation. "Wankers, the lot of them. After her looks or her money or her father," she continues, her eyes sharpening once more.

He meets her, fire for fire then, sure that this is his moment to prove himself to Jackie Tyler, if he wants her approval. And he does. Doesn't need it, surely, but for Rose… "Mrs. Tyler," he begins, his words slow and chosen carefully, "Rose could wear a bin bag and I'd still get tongue-tied just looking at her. She could work in a shop and I'd follow her to the ends of the universe. She could live on a council estate and only be able to afford beans on toast and I would still just want to be the man lucky enough to hold her hand. I could be the only man left on the planet and I'd be ok, as long as there was her. We've only just started, Mrs. Tyler - well, not even started really, but I think we can be so much more. I can assure you that the only thing I'm 'after', the only thing I'll ever be after, is Rose herself, if she'll have me."

He seems to, miraculously, have said the right thing _again_ _(and look at him, that's twice in a row! How often has that ever happened?)_ because Jackie's hard expression falls away once more. "Good," she sniffs, wiping her eyes and then adds quietly, "Because I've never heard her talk about someone the way she talks about you."

This impromptu show of emotion seems to have thrown Jackie because a moment later, she stands up and offers him, a bit cantankerously, a cuppa from the 'miserable excuse of a canteen' here. Once she leaves the room, he turns his full attention back to Rose. "You heard what I said, right?" he asks, squeezing her hand. "Dr. Sullivan told us we should talk to you...that maybe you could hear us. So, you've got to listen now, Rose, because this is important. There's so many places I want to take you, so many places we are going to go together! I've made plans, you know. Barcelona! Have you ever been there, Rose? I've never seen it but I hear it's amazing! I want to see it and I want to see it with you. I want to see lots of things with you, I want to do lots of things with you. Ever since you took my hand and saved my life my first day here, I've wanted that. You're all I've ever wanted, Rose Tyler, and I was only just smart enough to figure it out so listen to me. You've got to wake up. Do it for me, ok? Just this one thing? Because we're supposed to have a good life together, a fantastic life! And to do that, I need you to wake up. Please, Rose. Please. Just...wake up."

He waits, breath held, for that romance-film moment when her eyes flicker and her hand in his tightens just as he finishes pouring his heart out to her and then they snog and the credits roll, but nothing happens. Her machines beep, her respirator hisses and her hand remains still.

He puts his head down on her bed and weeps.

The next day, Clara and Mickey stop by, bringing with them tea, flowers and words of solace that are well-meaning but seem hollow to his grief-stricken ears. Pete has told him (and Rory, he supposes - he's not sure as he refuses to leave Rose's bedside long enough to find out, as he's sure Rory is doing with Amy) not to worry about going back to work for a few days. John is nearly never alone at Rose's bedside, well-wishers and family members traipsing in and out, rarely commenting (at least in his presence) on the pale, haggard relative stranger by her bedside who refuses to let go of her hand except for the occasional trip to the loo.

He can't help but overhearing people in the hall discussing him, however, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care that it's fast or that it seems crazy. He needs Rose, he just knows it. He distracts Jackie, makes small talk with Pete and bonds with the little ginger fireball called Tony who blasts into the room one day, too young to understand why his sister is sleeping and won't wake up. And he continues talking to Rose, hoping each time he finishes telling her about all the wonderful things they're going to do together, that she'll wake up and squeeze his hand and then they'll be off on the whirlwind adventure of a lifetime he's been planning for them while she sleeps, all the stars and constellations they'll see, all the wonderful journeys they'll take. Dr. Sullivan has taken out Rose's respirator as she's breathing fine on her own now, which makes the situation seem a little less terrifying, but she still just won't wake up, no matter what beautiful, heart-felt things he says to her.

Of course, when she does wake up, it is at the least opportune moment for him.

He's been here for four days now and he's had one shower in that time (berated there by a well meaning harpy of a cousin of Rose's named 'Donna'), he's wearing a ridiculous set of borrowed yellow scrubs, he's got almost a week's worth of beard on his chin and the bags under his eyes 'could hold all the queen's knickers for a trip to the moon' (thank you again, Cousin Donna). He is exhausted and manky and his hair has never been flatter.

He doesn't give one single damn.

It's the middle of the night and he's the only person in the room; Jackie's gone out for some tea again, Pete's managing some sort of interplanetary crisis and even Donna's gone home. One of the nurses, Astrid, he thinks might be her name, took pity on him and gave him two small, plastic containers of some sketchy-looking hospital jelly to eat and he's opened them both and placed one in front of Rose, more to have something to talk aloud about than anything else. He's placed a spare spoon in her left hand and taken her right, as is his customary position.

"There, that one's for you, Rose Tyler. Pear-flavoured, it is. Why anyone would ever ruin a perfectly good jelly by making it pear-flavoured, I don't know, but there you are. You can have it. Although, I'm not kissing you while you taste like pears, even if it's just pear-flavoured jelly. Not that we're to the kissing thing yet anyway. That's not to say, er, that I wouldn't like to kiss you. I would, quite a lot. Well, maybe not right this moment as you're unconscious and I haven't brushed my teeth in several days, but soon, I hope. I've thought about it a lot, you know. Where I'd like to kiss you and how I'd like to kiss you and, ah. Probably shouldn't be telling you that. Especially when we're not to the kissing and not when your mum might walk in, eh? So, anyway, pear for you and I'm keeping this lovely strawberry jelly for myself." He shoves a large spoonful in his mouth and chokes on it a bit. "Weeellll, I say strawberry but it's really just strawberry-ish. Strawberry-esque. I'm not actually sure there is any strawberry on this planet that's ever even resembled this, actually. And it's not lovely. Really, it's not. In fact, I cannot imagine ever using that word to describe this particular food-stuff ever again in my entire life and -"

Suddenly the spoon and the jelly clatter to the floor because Rose Tyler just squeezed his hand. He's certain she just did. He didn't imagine that. She did.

"Rose?" he asks in disbelief and the squeeze comes again, followed by her eyes flickering open, ever so slightly. "C'mon, Rose, c'mon! Open your eyes! That's it! C'mon!" he shouts, shooting up from his chair, knocking it over and sticking his trainer in the jelly mess and nearly falling to the floor.

Her eyes open the rest of the way and she blinks, her machines erupting around her but he doesn't notice. Doesn't hear the cacophony of machines or the shouts of orderlies or the screams of Jackie. Because Rose Tyler is awake. And even if he's not holding her hand anymore because Dr. Sullivan's forced him out of the way to do something important and doctor-ly, she's still looking at him and she's still smiling at him.

And Rose Tyler is awake.


End file.
